At A Glance
by entre-lagrimas-y-suspiros
Summary: Miranda/Andy AU story follows Miranda over the period of a year. Better summary inside.


**Title:** At a Glance

**Fandom:** DWP

**Paring:** Miranda/Andy centric but there are others.

**Rating:** PG-13 for now

**Summary:** AU. A year in the life…Miranda Priestley.

AN: This story is a translation/adaptation of a Mexican soap called _Miranda de Mujer_. I say translation because I'm going to be relying heavily on the soap including dialogue (I have the book). It's an adaptation because the soap was about a straight housewife who became involved in a very scandalous relationship with a younger man when her husband left her. This is much the same but I'm adapting it to the DWP universe with all its characters, while adding a few of my own, and all its rules.

**Chapter One**

Miranda woke slowly from a peaceful sleep. The morning light broke through the dark sapphire blue curtains, and hit the pillow on which she rested. She opened her eyes languidly. She looked towards the window past the glass and beyond, as the city rumbled to life.

She tossed the comforter carelessly, and walked towards the floor length window. She watched a car go by the otherwise quiet street. Miranda couldn't really make out the park as she looked up east 65th but she knew it was there just a block away and she could see some green. She sighed in contentment.

At a glance anyone would come to the conclusion that her life was good, no better than that, perfect, and Miranda would have to agree with that assessment. Her life was perfect. She stretched as she moved away from the window, ready to start her day.

On days like that one she could even say her life was magically. Miranda smiled at the thought of another birthday as she headed for the bathroom.

After staying in the bath longer than usual she studied herself in the mirror. She didn't feel fifty-seven, but then she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel. She certainly didn't feel old, nor did she look old. She had been lucky in that sense. She had great genes. In fact, if anything, she felt elated.

She had reached a point in her life where she could be happy, truly happy, with everything. She was the editor-in-chief of the best fashion magazine, a devoted wife to a wonderful man, and the loving mother of two of the brightest girls she had ever known. She was also an accomplished society woman on the board of trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Dalton. She had great friends, and a mean sense of style envied by most other women.

Miranda had achieved everything she had set her mind to. Everything. She couldn't understand, therefore, women who after achieving their goals were suddenly incomprehensible unhappy with their lives. She smiled at her reflection. She was happy. Being able to take the time to enjoy her birthday was happiness.

The day progressed smoothly. She had eaten breakfast with the girls before sending them off to piano lessons, which they had every Saturday morning. She received at kiss from each before they left.

She instructed Sarah, the cook, on what to make for lunch and had taken it to Stephen, who had been working in the study, herself. Her husband had said a quick 'thank you', and continued working. No one had said a word about her birthday, and so she had filled her hours away from Runway as usual; she read, checked her emails, and made a few phone calls. Around four her mother called and asked her to accompany her to Prada, she needed to replace sunglasses she had lost the day before. Miranda had agreed there wasn't much else for her to do. She invited the girls to go as well but they refused citing a mountain of homework all due Monday.

She stepped into the car and was about to tell Roy, her driver, her destination when she stopped a beautiful bouquet of Queen Elizabeth roses in a delicate dawn-pink color. Miranda smiled widely as she touched one dainty petal, she knew exactly who had put them there.

"My mother's house, Roy."

She would have to thank Stephen later.

[]

Weeks later she pulled on her silk stockings with the unhurried gestures that only emotional and economic security could give you. While she pulled them on she could hear Stephen moving around his closet picking out a tuxedo for that night. She ran a hand over the smooth silk. They certainly weren't the legs of a fifty-seven year old woman. They would have made any man stare with interest except perhaps her husband. Under the salmon colored robe her breast were still pert and soft awaiting the touch of warm hands.

Stephen tossed the tuxedo jacket on the bed. "The merger fell through!" He was furious.

"How?"

"Michael Foster didn't do what I instructed, that's how."

"I thought everything was finalized."

"Everything except the salary reduction. When are they going to learn that a contract…"

"…isn't like buying a membership at a country club!" After so many years together she knew some of Stephen's favorite phrases by hand. Despite Stephen's mood, Miranda was genuinely excited. After all, she truly loved fundraising for the Met, plus it'd do Stephen good to not think about work for one night.

"Would you please tell _Caroline_ to stop playing that thing?"

Some people thought that the modicum of distaste Stephen inflicted into ever _Caroline_ was intentional. It was his favorite way of stopping any argument between his daughters. He need only say _Caroline_ for the girl to stop immediately and, most of the time, run for cover.

"It's a saxophone." Miranda said in her most diplomatic voice. Personally she didn't like the instrument anymore than Stephen did, she'd rather her play the violin, but it seemed to make Caroline happy.

"If she concentrated on her studies more there wouldn't be such a raucous." He became upset because Miranda continued to get ready. "Go, tell her please. Please!"

People who thought themselves to be decent, good, and correct could be frightening. That was Stephen's case. His search for perfection and correctness had made him hard and rough around the edges. Caroline had been the most affected by her father's temper and harshness. She had turned into herself for peace, always trying to stay out of the way. Looking for her own path to happiness because she certainly wouldn't became like him.

"Caroline, your father asked…"

"Oh, right, right. I didn't know you guys were home yet."

"We came home early to change for the benefit and you know how much…"

"He hates my music." Caroline finished for her mother.

"No, it's only the volume that bothers him. Would you mind?"

"Nope, I'll put on my head-phones." As Miranda left Caroline called out, "You look fabulous by the way."

Miranda stopped and turned back towards Caroline full of pride at having such a loving daughter. Caroline said something about her shoes but she couldn't hear her because Cassidy had just stopped at her sister's door. "God I thought you'd never stop," she said before moving on.

Miranda gave Caroline a kiss and headed back to her bedroom she still needed to do her make-up. She found Cassidy seated on the bed talking animatedly with Stephen. Despite what Stephen thought of Caroline, Miranda knew that both her girls were dedicated to their studies. The difference was that Cassidy had chosen to follow her father into law, which please Stephen, while Caroline chosen to study art history. Miranda didn't think there was anything wrong with either choice. She wished Stephen would agree.

She smiled at Cassidy and made a beeline for the bathroom. "You look nice, mom."

"Thank you, darling." She tossed over her shoulder.

"And what about me young lady, how do I look?" Stephen asked with a tinkle in his eye.

"Like the most handsome man I've ever seen." Cassidy told her father as she helped him with his bow tie. "De la Renta suits you, daddy."

Stephen kissed the top of her head as she left the room.

When Miranda exited the bathroom fully done up, she felt like the most beautiful woman on the planet. The Balenciaga dress shimmered and clung to breast before falling away to her knee. Usually she would have been in a full-length gown but she wanted to take a risk. She wanted Stephen to notice her. She wanted to dazzle him. She walked towards him and asked, "How do I look?" Big mistake.

"Fine, but hurry, we are going to be late." Stephen said without even looking at her or thinking about his poor choice of words or the tone in which he said them.

Miranda sighed feeling frustrated with him, she was able to forgive him almost instantly thinking that the failed business deal had sour his night.

[]

His study on the first floor smelled of sandalwood and cognac. It was done in dark stained oak and its heavy furniture clashed with the rest of the townhouse. The study, with its dark tapestry and a wall filled with law books, was truly Stephen's space. It all made for a serious atmosphere, and when the door closed it often made others feel trapped.

He sat down behind his desk and dialed a very familiar phone number on his private line. Using the house line would have been dangerous there were extensions in almost every room including the kitchen. He couldn't take the risk of being overheard.

When someone picked up at the other end of the line, Stephen's face transformed itself and relaxed into a smile. "I left a message on your phone." He teased not caring at all to hide the happiness he felt.

Very few would be able to equate this man to the one that had yelled, _"But I left clear instructions!"_ into the phone not long before. Now he spoke in soft sweet tones. Then he apologized, but in the best possible manner. How long had it been since he had spoken to Miranda in that tone?

"Don't worry so much, Emily, you're going to do fine. I'll help with the case later, but don't worry I know you're brilliant as well as beautiful."

Emily was indeed beautiful. An English rose on American soil. She was prim and proper, and yet had an edge of ambition, of danger. She was all sophistication and elegance. At twenty-three she was a rose in her prime. "Sweet dreams, baby. I love you."

**Chapter Two**

Andrea Sachs, Andy for short, was the type of woman that many men wanted by their side and that many women wanted to be. Yet, for some reason men don't have and women aren't. She is divorced and lives in a small apartment in the East Village with her six-year old daughter Jude. The building, an old walk-up, had a distinctive flaw Andy had managed to turn into an advantage, paper-thin walls. This allowed not only for intimate conversations with her neighbor Felisa, but to wake-up to the smell of freshly brew coffee just like when she was a kid. The best possible way to wake up if you asked her.

Andy growled as she shut the world, and sunlight, out by hiding under the comforter. God, she needed to buy curtains. She should have done it months ago but every time she got her paycheck there was bills to pay or Jude needed something that just couldn't wait. Andy was comfortable for the most part but when things started to press on all sides she had to duck for cover.

Especially on mornings like that one. She had stayed up all night polishing the next article for her column, and had stumbled into bed around five in the morning. She just couldn't recover from that quickly, but she picked-up the phone both times it rang before eight. The first had been from Frank, the director of the New York Mirror and her boss, to let her know the deal had fallen through and since she was covering the story that was great news. The second had been from Nate, her ex-husband and depending on the mood-of-the-day her friend, to let her know he wanted an extra weekend with Jude. Thank goodness Felisa had left her some coffee on the fire escape when she heard she was awake.

"Andy the coffee is ready!"

"Yes, all right, yes, well talk more when you come get her tonight. Yes, bye, bye." She hung up the phone and said with feigned sweetness, "Good morning to you too ex-hubby."

"Andy…" Felisa called out at the same time the doorbell rang, "…are you awake yet?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well then put something on and opening the door. I brought you some milk from the store and I left there."

"What would I do without you Felisa? Thank you, thank you, thank you."

She heard Felisa laugh. "All right I get it, now get inside you probably didn't even pull on a robe."

Andy hugged her robe tighter around her body and joined in the laughter before going inside. She headed straight for the fire escape. She needed coffee before getting Jude ready for school.

[]

Miranda, Abigail, and Anne sat around a fashionably bare table at their favorite restaurant for lunch waiting for Nigel to arrive.

Miranda put down her wine and whined. "It's not the first time he talks about me as if I'm nothing more than a memory."

Normally she wouldn't discuss her private life, especially her husband, but Abigail and Anne were her best friends. She and Abigail had known each other practically since birth. They're mother were friends. They had attended Dalton and Columbia together. Anne was a new addition to their set, but she had proven herself loyal in the past three years. That fact that she worked at Runway had made it difficult for Miranda to warm up to her but Nigel liked the girl and so Miranda had tried. Now she trusted her as much as she trusted Abigail and Nigel. Her trust in them had been built on years upon years of surviving New York society together.

"For god's sake did you hear him? _Miranda was a wonder to behold. She had smooth perfect skin and a body to die for. Her legs just went on and on. _Doesn't it infuriate you? I was. I had. I got fed up with him. That's why, I don't know if you noticed, but I asked him, 'Stephen how long ago did you buried me?'"

"Of course we heard you." Abigail and her husband Thomas had as per usual shared the table with their longtime friends at the benefit. Anne and her current girlfriend had also joined them. "But tell me, what's going on between you two?"

"Well, hello darlings." Nigel interrupted out of breath as he gave each a kiss on the cheek and sat down. "So, sorry about the holdup but Doug stayed over last night and time just flew by. But I'm here now let us begin."

Miranda poured him a glass wine and made the toast, "To Nigel a true friend and gentleman may you celebrated many more."

"Here, here." Abigail and Anne echoed.

"Thank you, thank you. Shall we order?" They did. The women fell into silence and exchanged glances. "What? Out with it."

"I thought you weren't seeing him anymore." Abigail said.

Nigel shrugged. "What can I say? Ces l'amour."

Miranda lifted an elegant eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Well…it might be. I mean we've been together for a year now." Nigel took a large swig of wine. "An entire year. Good God." They all share an indulgent smile.

That very night in bed when Miranda remembered the conversation about love she had to breathe deeply to stop the tears flooding her eyes from spilling over. The cause? Stephen's indifference when she tired to talk to him before going to bed.

[]

"I should go." Stephen announced and left the bed in search of his clothes.

Emily sat up in bed letting the sheets slide down her naked body. "We're all going to the Hamptons on Saturday. We're staying for a few days. Serena's father is lending us the house. Why don't you come with me?"

"I don't think I can. I have a lot to do."

Emily got out of bed and walked towards him. His eyes never felt hers. "Which means Miranda's is dragging you to another event. What is it this time? A fundraiser for the Met, or one for the Mathew Priestley foundation?"

It wasn't the hint of reproach in her voice that made him relent. He wanted to go. An entire weekend away from Miranda, the girls, and the city, he couldn't think of anything better. When Emily let her hands slide down his chest and tug at his pants while giving him a look that seemed to say, _Are you really going to pass this up?_ Stephen knew he was done.

"Fine we'll go to the Hamptons with Serena."

"Serena and Alex." Emily corrected. Stephen's eyebrows shot up. "Serena is taking her girlfriend, which is fine I'm taking you aren't I?"

Stephen nodded, finished getting dress, and gave her a long kiss. There was no use in explaining once more how difficult the situation was for him. He would just have to find an excuse for Miranda.


End file.
